


Be Your Run-To

by toewsyourheart



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Bottom Damen (Captive Prince), First Time Bottoming, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-14
Updated: 2020-05-14
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:54:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24184720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/toewsyourheart/pseuds/toewsyourheart
Summary: Damen struggles in the aftermath of his injury and the reality of losing his remaining family. Laurent helps him cope.
Relationships: Damen/Laurent (Captive Prince)
Comments: 22
Kudos: 134





	Be Your Run-To

**Author's Note:**

> POV Switches: Damen >> Laurent >> Nikandros >> Damen

Damen watched as Laurent dissected another letter from Arles over his makeshift desk at Ios, a table and chair he had dragged into what was now Damen’s office space. Laurent loved it for the massive library attached. He had already brought in an entire new shelf on which he would display the books he planned to read separately from the ones he did not. It was very charmingly involved. 

Damen loved it for the memories of his childhood—sitting on the King’s lap and reading as a boy, growing and studying alongside him as he worked at his desk—and hated it for the exact same reason. 

Reality was strange to think about, stranger for it to be so. That was his father’s desk. His father’s books. His father’s rooms. His father’s throne. His father’s crown. His father’s city. His father’s kingdom. 

His father was dead. His brother was dead, buried in the royal crypt with family rather than treated as the gullible traitor he proved himself to be. 

Damen had thought he could save them both, will them to life and reason. 

He had been wrong. 

Grief crashed over him in inconvenient waves in the weeks immediately after his own injury and Kastor’s bitter end. It was different without the constant drama of plotting against the Regent and running around the continent with Laurent. Forced to endlessly sit and heal, Damen had time to dwell in his misery—entirely too much, arguably, that drained him to exhaustion in moments meant for rest—all while continuing plans to stabilize his own government and attempting to solidify an official unity with Vere. 

It was quite a lot of work, investigation and tedious conversation: drafting documents, arguing more treason and laws, deciding which policies would be adopted kingdom-wide or remain independent to either Akielos or Vere. The matter of slavery was the most pressing to attend to, and one on which Damen and Laurent vehemently agreed. Total abolishment was the goal. It was a matter of implementation, and not every kyros in Akielos was as amenable to change as Nikandros. 

They spent the majority of their days in grueling meetings once Damen was lucid, which began at his bedside, then expanded to common rooms as Damen grew stronger. Laurent had done an invaluable job at handling things when he was not, but there was still substantial progress to be made. He had named Nikadros Kyros in Ios, summoned the few, trustworthy members of the Veretian Council, new appointments included. 

It added another layer of difficulty on both sides, given Vere’s chaotic political climate and Kastor’s treason. It was hard to know exactly all the places evil had touched their kingdom, and Laurent’s extended stay in Ios was a disadvantage in finding out and achieving true peace for Vere. None of the Veretians in Ios liked it there, and none of the Veretians in Vere liked that their future King was still away. Laurent’s focus should have been that, not shouldering Damen’s burdens beyond necessity.

As it was, Laurent refused to be parted from him until he was well again. Damen had been adamant for some time that he  _ was _ well again, despite some moderate discomfort during his deep breathing exercises and soreness that lingered with certain movements. He seemed to be singularly convinced of that. Even Nikandros was on Laurent’s side, a rarity of astronomical proportion. 

Under different circumstances, Damen would’ve already progressed his training to more rigorous levels, used physical exertion and pain as a distraction for everything else, then pushed through until it became tolerable. The lack thereof was making him incredibly irritable, but Laurent insisted he take it torturously easy, fretting about him every step. 

From the look on Laurent’s face, it appeared whoever wrote the latest letter from Vere was returning the favor in making one irritable. 

“What’s the matter?” Damen asked. 

With reluctance, Laurent said, “I have to leave for Vere. The people have started  _ congregating  _ outside Arles, which I suspect is diplomatic phrasing for  _ rioting _ . Resistance from the Regent’s leftover filth. Fucking brilliant.” 

Innocently enough, Damen noted, “Going back sooner would have eliminated that.” 

“Just what I wanted to hear, Damianos,” Laurent said, voice like the edge of a knife. “Thank you for your helpful counsel.” 

“Laurent, I didn’t mean—” Damen started, then stopped, closing his mouth with an internally audible clack of teeth. He took a deep breath, blew it out. “I only meant that Vere needs to see its King. They’ll settle as soon as you enter the city.” 

“Do you want me to go so badly?” Laurent asked. “If it will help, you can say it. Let us not pretend I haven’t been worrying you mad.” 

“You haven’t,” Damen fibbed. 

He had, at times, but only regarding certain things. Being fussed over had never been something Damen was particularly keen on.

Damen said, “You’re the best part of every day I live.” 

The former did not make the latter untrue. Their stolen moments were the only thing that kept Damen holding himself together. The source of his foul mood wasn’t Laurent; his concern came from a place of love, Damen knew well enough. It was the circumstances, a result of sadness and lethargy and days and days of complete uselessness that Damen was unaccustomed to and despised to his core. It wasn’t fair to lay his frustrations on Laurent simply because he had nowhere else to aim them, but it’s what he had done. 

“Am I?” Laurent asked, the prick self-deprecation clear and sharp. “You haven’t even pretended you want me to stay to spare my feelings.” 

Laurent was talking nonsense. Damen ached to erase the doubt in his voice. He went to him, yielding before crossing completely into Laurent’s space where he sat at his table. It was clear when Damen needed to tread more carefully, when Laurent’s defenses were momentarily raised. Damen fancied himself safely inside them, not out in the cold. Still, he waited, until a nearly-imperceptible nod and a softening of eyes gave him the permission he sought. 

He slid Laurent’s chair away from the table to better get at him, kneeling in front of him on the floor. Laurent looked at him as though he might break during the mere act of kneeling, but thankfully, held his tongue. 

“Laurent, I don’t  _ want _ you to go,” Damen explained. “These cuffs on our wrists?” He held Laurent’s hand in one of his, and with the other, let his fingers trail across gold. “Everything they stand for, I want. You, I want. But I don’t want you to stay here to the detriment of Vere because you think I need to be watched like an invalid. I am  _ fi _ —” 

“ _ Don’t _ . Don’t say you’re fine,” Laurent stopped him. “You’ve said that since the moment you very nearly bled to death under my hand, through every complication. Are you so stubborn you cannot see you’re the least reliable regarding your own condition? Your physical state is not my only concern—” Laurent took his face in both hands, his touch gentle as he leaned forward to press his lips to Damen’s forehead, murmuring, “You’ve not been yourself, Damianos. I’m worried about your mind, your spirit.” 

Damen clutched Laurent’s wrists, letting out a ragged breath. The whole truth spoken aloud unsettled him to the bone, made everything he fought to bury swell up inside, threatening to burst through his skin. His voice was strained, on the verge of disproportionate emotion, “It’s not you, Laurent. I swear it. It’s me. I’m—”

_ Broken. _

He thought he had been managing, that the moments of shared happiness between them would disguise the torment in his heart. 

Laurent cradled Damen’s head to his chest, and Damen’s arms found their way around him. 

“You’re grieving, Damen. Your opportunity was stolen from you after your father was killed. It’s perfectly normal to need that time now, after everything. When Auguste died, I—” Damen sensed Laurent hit a wall and bear through it in the next breath. “It took months for the agony to subside enough that I felt I could breathe again.” 

It only added to Damen’s guilt. 

“Your brother was good, Laurent—”  _ And I took him from you _ , Damen thought. “Mine tried to kill me more times than I’m likely aware of to accurately count. And my father— You hated my father. He was a ruthless conqueror, and I worshipped him in blissful ignorance.” 

“My opinions about Theomedes are irrelevant. He was your father, your only living parent, your King,” Laurent listed, pressing a kiss to his hair, then another. “What you feel is acceptable, no matter how conflicting…There’s no proper strategy in mourning, my love, but you do not have to do it alone in silence. I am here.” 

Damen felt his cheeks wet with tears he hadn’t known were trickling free. He buried his face in Laurent’s chest, a choked sob escaping with his words. “It’s impossible to be here, Laurent. Everywhere I look, I see them. I feel like—”

_ An imposter _ . 

Laurent was the last person who needed to hear that from him. Damen had been groomed for kingship his entire life and felt fraudulent when faced with it now amidst his sadness, particularly having evolved so drastically from who he last was in Ios. Even so, he couldn’t fathom having it thrust upon him as a boy as Laurent did, his grief unimaginable and obstacles unnumbered, the unspeakable abuse he endured. 

“Tell me,” Laurent coaxed, his fingers moving in soothing strokes against his scalp. “Let me inside this head of yours.” 

A deep, steadying breath. 

“There are times I feel Ios doesn’t belong to me. It’s as though my father’s still here, alive in every hall and chamber. I’m so far from the Prince Akielos once knew,” Damen confessed. 

Laurent lifted Damen’s head to meet his eyes, delicately wiping beneath them with his thumbs. His smile was soft, compassionate. His eyes shone with love Damen felt unworthy of receiving. 

“Damianos, my King,” Laurent said, with a reverence in his voice that throbbed in Damen’s chest and ached through his ribs. “You are twice the leader and ten times the man your father and brother were. Not all change is unwelcome. If you stepped onto the balcony now, Ios would chant your name in the streets. Not your father’s. Not Kastor’s. They adore you. I adore you. Your effortless confidence, the power you hold in your body and words… I aspire to it. Your brother played at ruling. You were born to it. Akielos is yours. These ghosts won’t haunt you forever.” 

His words were fleeting warmth wrapped around Damen’s body. He longed to feel it deeper, for them to speak to something solid inside him and hold.

“You’re kinder than I deserve,” Damen said. Then, eager to shift the conversation away from himself, split open as he was, he returned, “It was born in you, too. You’re brilliant, Laurent. I’ve never known a mind like yours. Arles will receive you with open arms, whenever you choose to return. I’ve seen how your people look at you.” 

They had lined the streets of every town in Vere, ecstatic to catch a mere glimpse of Laurent as he rode through on their journey to Akielos. If there was residual unrest in the capital due to the Regent, Damen imagined the faction was small. 

“If it hasn’t been ripped apart brick by brick before I arrive,” Laurent mused, with an exaggerated sigh. He caressed Damen’s face from brow to jaw. “You look exhausted. Let’s have a hot bath, shall we? Wait for me in your chambers, and I’ll attend you? I have one thing left to do here.”

Damen nodded. That did sound nice. 

He shifted to stand, pausing to kiss Laurent on his way. His breath caught, lips trembling as the kiss deepened. His emotions were all out of sorts. Nothing meant more to him than making Laurent happy, merging their lives into one as Damen felt bound to him. He wished to feel better, and he wished to do it beside Laurent. 

“Thank you, Laurent… Hurry to me,” Damen said, and because it was all he could muster while keeping his composure, he hoped it conveyed everything he meant.

+

Laurent sat at the table where Damen had left him, head hung low in his hands. Under the weight on his shoulders, he attempted to gather himself again. 

It was excruciating to see Damen struggle so much in his grief, especially knowing that his time in Arles undoubtedly contributed to his current mental state, that the Regent tainted Damen’s life just as he had tainted Laurent’s. As much as he longed to, he could not change the past or else he would have long before now; however, he could help as they moved forward.

Damen was so used to dealing with everything without dealing with anything at all, and Laurent knew better than anyone what repression of feelings and emotional isolation did to a person. He fought those tendencies in himself every day. He would not let the man he loved more than his own life, in spite of everything, succumb to the same fate. 

He had an idea. It was not his best, but it was the only one viable. 

With all the palace slaves newly, rightly freed and not yet replaced with the abundance of servants that Ios required, it was very inconvenient to make a request. What was Laurent to do? Shout until someone who walked by could hear him?

He reluctantly rose and went to the door, stuck out his head, and spotted a guard rounding the corner. He cleared his throat, loudly. The guard turned.

Confused and stammering, he bowed at the waist, “Exalted.”

They were trying. 

“Damianos is the exalted one, I’m afraid. Your Highness will do for now,” Laurent amended in flawless Akielon. His time in the city had sharpened his tongue to it. “Fetch Nikandros of Ios for me.”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

Because he could, Laurent added, “Tell him I don’t like to wait.”

+

As much as it irritated him to his core, Nikandros reported within minutes to find the Prince lounged in a chair as if he had been waiting an eternity, his feet propped on a very expensive table he had dragged into Damianos’s office. His practiced nonchalance was grating, even after weeks of exposure to it. He knew it did not accurately reflect Laurent’s true temperament. No one was wound tighter. 

“You sent for me, Your Highness?” Nikandros asked, doing his best to remember his duty despite his low simmering annoyance. 

“I’m sure this news will deeply sadden you,” the Prince started without preamble, “But I’ll be leaving inside three days—”

“And you need me to make arrangements?” Nikandros supplied, failing to disguise his sudden eagerness.

“ _ And— _ ” Being interrupted displeased him. “I need you to prepare to be without Damianos temporarily,” Laurent revealed. “You can handle things here for a fortnight or two, can’t you?”

Nikandros recoiled at his words, the rate of his heart spiked. “ _ What? _ No, Your Highness. What do you mean? No!” 

“Relax, Nikandros. I’m going to ask him if he would like to come back to Arles to aid in the stabilization of Vere,” the Prince explained, speaking slowly and clearly, as if Nikandros’s confusion came from a deficit in communication and not disdain and deep-seated suspicion. “As Kyros of Ios, I am notifying you in advance, so you don’t cause an unproductive scene in front of your King later. He requires support, not resistance.” 

“And who is resisting  _ you _ ? Damianos has only just escaped Vere. Why would he go back with you?” Nikandros asked, unsatisfied with the Prince’s explanation. The Regent had been the catalyst for upheaval in Akielos. Why he thought Vere deserved Damianos’s help was a mystery, unless… In a moment of blind panic, he asked it, though he knew it a mistake as the words escaped his mouth, “How do I know you aren’t planning to murder him back in the safety of Arles and take the whole country now that the road to your throne is clear?”

“That would be the long game of the century, wouldn’t it?” Laurent said, his usual cold stare turned as explicitly icy as the tone of his voice. He spit out in a rush of words, “And how stupidly I’ve gone about it, having done nothing but devote every waking second of my time to mending Akielos. Don’t be fucking foolish. At the very least, you insult me, and at worst, you underestimate your _King_ if you think I would have any authority here without him.”

Forgetting himself even further, “Laurent, I—”

“I have no interest in your apologies or Akielos without Damianos,” Laurent finished, matter of fact. “He is not well, Nikandros, and despite what your incessant paranoia tells you, that is all I care about.”

The rational part of him that was gradually returning could not deny he had spoken out of line, that Laurent’s devotion to Damianos seemed sincere. It had, at least, withstood the first few, trying weeks, and apparently, those trials were not over. Nikandros could see now that the Prince was under tremendous stress, fraying at his edges. 

His assertion pierced through Nikandros’s outrage, and if he thought it through, he could see to pieces of the truth himself: Damianos was oddly withdrawn. He rarely smiled, except in fleeting moments when looking at the Prince. He barely argued against his rest, grimacing in pain more often than Nikandros had ever seen. Nikandros had found him in the tombs on multiple occasions, sitting alone. 

He was not well. 

Tempers settled. 

“What makes you think going to Vere will help him?” Nikandros asked, measured, unsure of the answers himself. 

What he  _ knew _ was that Damianos had been enslaved in Vere, whipped and tortured in Vere, nearly killed in Vere many times over. Laurent didn’t need to hear the words spoken—as if Nikandros would dare cross him so directly in the same conversation again—the reality of their impossible circumstances palpable in the room. 

They had both endured unspeakable things from life and each other, and somehow, overcome them. Damianos would survive this, too, but in Vere?

He supposed Damianos had also watched his father die slowly in Ios, been egregiously betrayed by his own brother in Ios, beaten, chained, and kidnapped in Ios, nearly killed in Ios many times over.

“I don’t know that it will with any immediacy,” Laurent admitted, “But I know this palace is a living nightmare for him, in waking and rest. He talks through his sleep. I can barely stand—” Laurent paused at a crack in his voice, collected himself. Nikandros could see the agony reflected in his eyes, and despite his instincts, he felt additionally guilty for his previous accusation. “We have to try.” 

“And if he says no to your offer?” Nikandros inquired. 

“Then I will somehow leave without him inside three days, and it will be your responsibility to see after him,” Laurent answered, a blatant threat on the tip of his tongue that he miraculously held, even in the face of Nikandros’s outburst. “You can make arrangements for my retinue regardless. I know nothing would please you more. That will be all.” 

Nikandros nodded, not one to argue with obvious dismissals and future Kings with which he had already pressed his luck, especially when they were correct for once. 

+

Damen was lying on his back in bed, raw from his conversation with Laurent, waiting. He alternated between intervals of resting his eyes and staring at bare ceilings above him.

There were no dense fabrics or intricately woven patterns all over everything like in Arles. Tracing them with his eyes and fingers had become cathartic during his idle time there. A strange part of him missed the distraction from his thoughts, which were, presently, scattered all over the place—some fragmented and fuzzy, hard to track, others more concrete and consuming. 

He felt lost in some ways, at times barely held on course by duty and Laurent’s light. It was not so bleak every second, but the darkness could be dense and suffocating. He felt uncharacteristically susceptible to it. 

Considering all that Laurent had said to him, Damen concluded that perhaps he was right. Some burdens must be shared to overcome. 

As if on cue amidst thoughts of his rightness, Laurent entered their chambers. Within seconds, the mattress dipped at his side, Laurent crawling onto the bed to lay beside him. 

“All finished for the day,” Laurent announced, kicking off his boots. He took Damen’s hand in a conservative display of affection. “Is a bath still of interest to you?”

“Yes,” Damen said. A servant had already drawn it for them. No need to have the water go to waste. “You mentioned attending me?” 

“Yes,” Laurent repeated, swinging his leg over Damen’s to carefully straddle his lap. Playfully, “Would that please you?” 

“I think it might,” Damen said, a smile threatening the corner of his mouth. Laurent bent to kiss the dimple it made, then his lips. Damen let his hands explore Laurent’s thighs, resting them comfortably at his hips. 

“There’s nothing I wouldn’t do to please you, Damen,” Laurent said against his mouth, more heartfelt now, pulling the pin at his shoulder until the upper portion of his chiton fell free. “You know that, don’t you?” 

“I do,” Damen said. 

Despite the strain in his abdomen, he sat up on the bed with Laurent atop him, then stood, securing Laurent’s legs around his waist. For all his concern that Damen was hurting, Laurent remained silent, the flash of arousal in his eyes the only measure of his reaction. 

Damen walked them to the bath in the adjacent room, which was merely a massive tub they had brought in to make bathing more convenient during the worst of Damen’s injury. Instead of delegating the task to a servant, Laurent had seen to him every night—bathed him, ensured his comfort, cleaned and re-dressed his wounds after insisting Paschal teach him. 

While Damen’s pride protested in embarrassment, his heart had been defenseless against Laurent’s tenderness in those moments, and the two remained at war inside him. It made everything worse, staining a gesture that should have been wholly beautiful. 

He dispensed with his conflictions to focus on the present, Laurent in front of him. 

From there, undressing was simple for Damen, more complicated for Laurent, predictably. Damen let him untie the string at his waist, then watched in his nakedness as Laurent made quick work of his many laces, enjoying each new patch of porcelain skin he could see. 

The water was still warm, the tub spacious enough for the both of them. Another detail of many Laurent had taken care of. 

Once settled, they soaked together in comfortable silence on opposite ends, reaching across the tub to tangle their fingers together. Damen smiled at him. Laurent smiled back.

“I love to be with you, Laurent,” Damen said, another reassurance to dispel any lingering doubt in his mind. “It will be…difficult to watch you sail away from me. I will miss this.” 

“As will I,” Laurent seconded. “Let us make the most of our time together.”

Laurent moved to him, and once again, saw to him thoroughly, as if every inch of him was precious. He washed Damen’s hair, his body, massaged every muscle with exquisite attention. After, Damen reciprocated with equal care, and as they exited and dried, hands began to explore and linger with purposes even more intimate than the bathing had been. 

They kissed with unhurried, building passion, Laurent’s tongue dancing against his. His fingers came to Damen’s chin in a delicate touch. Unthinkingly, Damen took them into his mouth, sucking briefly and then releasing them wet to kiss him again.

“ _Damianos_ ,” Laurent said, voice thick with arousal.

“I want you, Laurent, with everything I have,” Damen said, losing himself. Making love to him was one of few distractions that captivated him in his present mood, most effective in taking his mind away from everything else.

Laurent’s hands slid down his back to his ass, squeezing to bring him closer, their bodies wonderfully flush. The fingers Damen had taken into his mouth inched between the swells of his ass, where no one else had ever been with intention, teasing at more. 

Laurent paused, looking to him to gauge his reaction, and suddenly, viscerally, Damen wanted it. It had crossed his mind before and very nearly come to fruition with Laurent. 

Only Laurent. 

He had asked to see into Damen’s mind. 

He would give himself over to Laurent in every capacity. 

“Touch me,” Damen breathed out, nervous with all he wanted. “I want to experience everything with you, Laurent.” 

Laurent’s fingers went deeper between to graze over his hole, then with slightly more pressure. A shiver ran through him, familiar in nature but foreign to him all the same. 

He imagined Laurent felt similarly. 

Again, with more pressure, testing… 

Damen hid his face in Laurent’s neck, sucked in a short breath that pinched uncomfortably in his lungs. He ignored it. “Have you thought of this?” 

“Yes,” Laurent answered, “Of course I have.” 

Damen kissed a path from Laurent’s collarbones to his ear, then whispered into it, his voice low and rough, “Take me to bed, Your Highness.” 

The walk was quicker than last time. 

Damen resumed his earlier position, on his back in the middle of the mattress, resting on a pile of pillows. He watched as Laurent lit a few more candles than the servants had provided and retrieved oil from the bedside drawer. To see him move about their private room, totally naked and mostly unabashed, was a treat Damen had not yet gotten used to. One day, he might press his luck in public. It was common practice in Akielos, after all. 

There was a tension in the air, not unpleasant in nature but anticipatory, charged. 

Laurent rejoined him on the bed, fitting himself between Damen’s spread thighs and leaning forward to find his mouth once more. 

“Are you sure?” Laurent whispered. 

In answer, Damen took one pillow from behind him and used it to support his hips to make himself more accessible and improve the angle. The mechanics of making sex satisfying for someone else, he understood. The sensation on this side of things was the only unknown for him. It was exhilarating, in a sense, the idea of crossing a new threshold with Laurent. Damen found himself wanting to urge him on, faster inside, but refrained. He would allow Laurent to guide them until need surpassed reason. 

Laurent started his journey down Damen’s body—kissing his neck and chest, the length of his abdomen while careful of his newly closed wounds—then knelt between his legs. Damen watched through half-lidded eyes as Laurent dispensed oil onto his fingers, then bent his head to pay special attention to the sensitive skin of his inner thighs, his cock, his balls, as he set about opening him up with those fingers. 

Laurent was patient, gentle, perfection. One finger, then another. Damen took deep, calming breaths that ached. It was odd at first, though not in a way he disliked. Compounded with everything else Laurent was simultaneously doing with his mouth, it was quickly becoming overwhelming. He squirmed as Laurent moved his fingers in and out, draped his forearm over his eyes. He felt fevered, flushed from head to toe. 

Without stopping, Laurent came forward to pull Damen’s arm away and find his mouth again. 

“I want to see you,” Laurent implored. “No more hiding from me, Damianos.”

“No more hiding,” Damen repeated, and it ran deeper, somehow, than the place Laurent physically touched him. 

“The thought of having you like this is almost enough to do me in,” Laurent started, choked as Damen reached for his cock, stroking from base to tip. 

“Do it,” Damen directed, “Have me like this.” Another finger probably would have been useful, but they were being honest. “I want to feel  _ every inch _ of you pushing inside me, Laurent. I need it.” 

Laurent cursed in Veretian, sat back without argument. He removed his fingers—which elicited a hiss through gritted teeth from Damen—and found the vial of oil again. Covering himself in a small amount, Laurent positioned his cock at Damen’s entrance and began the steady press into him. 

The drag of his cock was exceptional, the sharp prick of stretch and delicious fullness mixed with growing pleasure as his body accommodated him. Unable to stop himself, Damen used his heels to bring Laurent forward all at once, moaning as Laurent’s cock hit perfectly, completely inside of him. It was an intense jolt of electricity, a frisson of hot arousal that curled his toes. 

“I cannot  _ believe _ you’re inside me,” Damen spoke aloud without intention, overcome. He rolled his hips with Laurent’s flush against him, relishing that spark as Laurent’s cock nudged inside of him. He felt empty of everything but Laurent, and he longed for more, to let go and experience it entirely. 

“ _ Fuck, _ ” Laurent cursed again, letting his head lull back to his shoulders, eyes to the ceiling. Strained, he said, “You’re so tight, Damianos.” 

“Fuck me, Laurent,” Damen said, and it emerged a whine from his mouth. He touched between them at the place they were joined, Laurent’s cock sliding against his fingertips as he began to move in smooth, long strokes that drove Damen out of his mind. 

“Is this—?” Laurent started, a half-inquiry for approval as he leaned forward again to blanket Damen’s body. He braced himself on either side of him, and Damen circled Laurent’s cuffed wrist with his hand, holding on. “Damen, talk to me.” 

“Yes, Laurent,” Damen encouraged, breathless, closing his eyes to it. “ _ Yes _ .” 

Laurent fucked him harder, and Damen let his thighs fall open completely, surrendering himself to sensation. He could not say how long it lasted, only that every second was intoxicating, that he wished he could live infinitely in the feeling. 

When Damen reached his orgasm, he cried out, the combination of Laurent’s cock inside and his expert hand on Damen’s bringing him over the edge and beyond. He clenched around him, evoking a similar reaction from Laurent—a ragged, half-stifled moan torn from him and a spilling of himself deep inside. 

He collapsed on top of him, and Damen grunted at the unexpected impact, Laurent slipping free of him. He could feel himself stretched, open, empty… 

“ _ Oh _ ,” Laurent gasped, “Damen, I forgot myself. I’m sorry.” 

He made to move off, evidently afraid he had hurt him, but Damen wrapped his arms around him to hold him in place. 

“My love,” Damen breathed out, content. He did not yet wish to be without the steadying weight of him. “I am—” He could not find a word suitable. “More than fine. You were incredible. Stay. Please.”

Thankfully, Laurent did not require further convincing. 

After a while, they miraculously managed to clean themselves up, then laid together in a tangle of limbs, face to face. 

Damen trailed his fingertips down Laurent’s arm from shoulder to elbow, again and again.

Laurent’s expression held a subtle smugness that was constant. 

He asked, “Was that… adequate?” 

Damen huffed a laugh at the distant memory, shifting closer to kiss Laurent along with his answer. “Quite.” 

He knew Laurent’s cock had not magically cleansed him of all that plagued his mind, but he now better understood why Laurent was so fond of his. For the moment, Damen felt relaxed to his core, sated more deeply than he had been in a long time. It was powerful to bare oneself to another, to be completely exposed and vulnerable, to allow someone inside and feel love reciprocated. The sensation, the release was all at once grounding and freeing. 

“How do you feel?” Laurent inquired.

“Honored that you were the first,” Damen answered sincerely, to which Laurent’s cheeks faintly blushed, his eyes darkening even as they softened at the edges. “No one else could ever give that to me.”

“I’m happy you think so,” Laurent said, “As I will be the only one to try.” 

Damen hoped there would be more trying in his immediate future. 

The immediate future, in which Laurent was leaving. 

How was he to bear it?

In a surge of clarity, something came to him. In hindsight, it had been obvious, poking at his consciousness for days. It was not practical. 

Still, Damen announced to him, “I have an idea.” 

“I have one, too,” Laurent seconded. “I’d like to hear yours first.”

“What if I come to back to Vere with you, for just a little while?” Damen suggested. “You’ve been invaluable to Akielos and to me, Laurent. If I can help you, or at the very least, keep you warm at night, I want to. Let me return the fav—”

Laurent kissed him, suddenly, then parted to murmur, “I had a talk with Nikandros before I came to bed. I already told him to prepare to be without his King for a while.”

“You  _ did _ ?” Damen asked, shocked.

“I planned to ask you to come back with me,” Laurent confessed. “I only hoped you would say yes. I did not think you would ask me first.”

“Surprise,” Damen said, kissing him. 

“Surprise, indeed,” Laurent echoed, “I wondered what you thought about something else.” 

Damen loved to glimpse into Laurent’s scheming, to be his confidante. “What’s that?”

“If you’re feeling up to it, I considered sailing to the border at the center, then riding through Vere back to Arles. You were right when you said the people need to see me. We could take our time, build support as we go, sleep in a different fort every night. It could be fun, though I cannot allow any rooftop runs this time, I’m afraid.” 

“I never dreamed you would,” Damen said. The plan sounded wonderful to his ears, and whether Damen was truly up for the ride or not, he would pretend to be until his body was. “It’s a brilliant idea, Laurent. I have only one issue.”

“Of course you do,” Laurent said, huffing theatrically in advance. “What is it?”

“There is no border at the center,” Damen noted. “We are one.” 

Laurent smiled, bright and beautifully, placing a hand to Damen’s cheek. “We are.”

+

**Author's Note:**

> TYSM FOR READING!
> 
> When I imagined writing Damen bottoming for the first time (and I have, a lot), I never thought it would be so serious, but I found myself wanting to explore Damen’s grief and what that might look like in a world where his recovery wasn’t quite so smooth, mentally and emotionally or physically. [In my mind, the complication Laurent speaks of is a hemothorax (blood in the pleural cavity) and a collapsed lung. That’s why it’s been slower going, and it still hurts when he breathes. (I literally have no idea what the actual prognosis for this injury would be at this time. I assume not good, but please don’t @ me lol. If anyone could survive it, it’s Damen’s stubborn ass, and we’ll pretend Laurent threatened to kill everyone in sight until Paschal put in a chest tube and saved him.)]
> 
> P.S. Title from Dermot Kennedy’s ‘Without Fear’ — I’m just barely refraining from posting all the lyrics in the notes because I think it’s so perfect for this fic and Damen/Laurent in general. Please go listen to it. PLEASE. I beg you. It goes hard afff. I’ll entice you with the bridge: 
> 
> _Now I really think you’re heaven sent // ‘Cause you’ve been forcin’ all these hollow hearts to feel again //_  
>  Now I really think you’re heaven sent // There’s a beauty in being broken, I’ve been seein’ it // __
> 
> __I’m on tumblr @ watchingtheroad._ _   
> 


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